Sanctuary
by BetsunoNeko
Summary: The blonde is an enigma. He's a weirdo, he's a spaz, he has no regard for human life, he's a pervert, he's motherly, he's sweet, he's protective, he's strong, and he's so insane it hurts, but it's a good kind of hurt. The kind of hurt that you never want to stop. I don't understand it, I never will, the only thing I know is that I never want him to leave my side. AU, Crenny
1. Sting of The Cold

1

God it was freezing. It was really, truly freezing, and all the boy wanted to do was run, even if it meant running back out into the unforgiving nip of the freezing air with nothing but the backpack on his shoulders. Hell, he'd trudge through a blizzard in nothing but his underwear than march up those wooden porch steps into that monstrous looking decrepit house. How the property is even up to state code is unbelievable, one of the world's great mysteries, perhaps. The dated wood paneling is peeling off and the paint has long faded from years of abuse from the same snow that stings at him now. Hazardous looking icicles dangle from the gutters and the whole house seems to be at a tilt. Nothing but bare and scrawny trees line it for miles on end, a literal representation of nowhere, and practically every murderer's house in every horror movie ever. A very old and worn down looking metal swing set for two is standing at a tilt out of the snow and a weary looking child heavily clad in winter clothing seems dead-set on digging the legs out of the snow with nothing but their gloved hands and a plastic spoon.

Each step the boy makes towards the front of the house is an agonizing one. He prays to anyone to let the wind carry him away or for the snow to swallow him up. No luck comes to him. Instead a small yet harsh tug on the end of his jacket causes him to look down into the dismal and dark face of a young girl. As soon as her harsh green eyes catch his she scoffs in discontent and turns back to watch her converse sink into the snow while muttering a harsh, "welcome back" under her breath. Her hair is shaggy and cropped at her shoulders and is a strawberry shade of blonde that could be mistaken for red at a distance. A baggy light blue pullover sweater hangs around her shoulders and her grey jeans are ripped up. She drags a satchel at her side, the boy gets to carry the heavy stuff.

It's sad when all of your belongings can be condensed into nothing more than a backpack and a satchel, but sad is not something he allows himself to feel anymore. The police officer accompanying him shakes his head slowly and sadly to the two children, a silent consultation to himself that they'll have a good life here and that it won't be like last time. _Probably. _He presses the doorbell and the three hear the muffled chime and an indistinct shout.

"_Kenneth, get the door!" _

A few seconds later there are hurried footsteps on wood and the sound of a chain moving out of place. The dark wood door creaks open and upon seeing the officer halts completely before the person on the other side decides to keep opening it.

In the doorway is a teenage boy of average height with the messiest golden blonde hair the officer and the two children had ever seen. The kid's eyes are a mesmerizing shade of ice blue swirled with some deeper, navy shades and he's so lanky that the large orange parka he wears seems to swallow him up. He leans nonchalantly in the frame, as if he were opening the door to guests at a party.

"Officer," the blonde says with a nod. The blonde cracks the most shit eating grin known to man at the two children lingering on the porch. They just look like they want to run. He knows the feeling far too well.

"May I speak to Mr. and Mrs. Denwell? I'm here with the new foster children," the officer says in a somewhat somber voice.

The blonde kid gives a slight nod of acknowledgement and his demeanor changes. The look he casts on the teenage boy behind the officer is one of sorrow, as if he's saying, "_Sorry, you're outta' luck" _to a shopper that missed a sale item. "Gimme' a second…" he mutters, different from his previous tone drastically. He shuts the door gently and a few moments later it reopens.

A very large and up-to-do looking man yanks open the door. His frame is a little taller than average and his hair is an ugly shade of brown, like dirty dish water. For a man who is simply relaxing in his home he seems far too overdressed in his crisp slacks and tie.

"Yes?" His voice is deep and naturally assertive.

"Mr. Denwell?" The officer asks.

"Yes, what is it?"

"I'm here with the new foster children down from Denver, my name is Officer Pierce."

"Ah, yes, pleasure to meet you, sir. Come, come in." The man in the doorway steps aside and the officer ushers the grim looking children inside to a small living room. When Mr. Denwell's eyes fall upon the two children, he nearly chokes on his own spit.

The younger of the two is a girl that looks to be about twelve or thirteen. She's short and thin and has cropped strawberry colored hair that is swept in front of her face like choppy bangs and tickles the back of her neck. She has a bow in her hair as if someone tried to make her more presentable as a little girl, because this is certainly not. The look in her eyes is bored but at the same time venomous as if she's just a sleeping snake with its eyes still open. The girl stares at Mr. Denwell with such brooding contempt it makes him shiver.

The other… where to even begin. The teenage boy is very, very tall, just a little taller than Mr. Denwell himself and has choppy hair the color of ink dangling just above his eyes. A dark blue chullo hat he is wearing matches the oversized coat with fake fur lining on the hood and many zippered and buttoned pockets. His hands are crammed deep, deep into his front pockets and if Mr. Denwell didn't know any better he'd say the boy's eyes were _grey. _The impressive looking teen surveys the room around him with a lazy and disinterested scowl.

After a few pleasantries exchanged with Officer Pierce, Roger Denwell's wife comes into the room. She looks similar to her husband but has blonde hair and looks overall to be an angry person. She's dressed as if she's Amish in an ankle length plushy dress with ugly flower print everywhere. A broom is in her right hand and she greats the officer with a warm smile that causes her large earrings to catch the light.

"Tell them your name, boy," Officer Pierce says gently.

The girl rolls her eyes before muttering a less than enthusiastic, "Ruby."

The dark haired boy says nothing. "Well?" Roger Denwell asks, being a man of very little patience and very short temper, he can already tell him and the boy will not be getting along well at all.

"Give them your name," Officer Pierce pushes again, a little less gently this time.

"Craig." The monotone is silencing and the slightly nasal sound is more than a little strange.

"I am Roger and this is Laura but you will call us Mr. and Mrs. Denwell, or, if you so please, 'mother' and 'father'," Roger adds at the end even though he's positive the two children before him will give no such pleasant titles.

"Thank you again officer," Laura says in a slight southern drawl. "They're in very good hands."

"Be careful driving in this weather, too, I hear it's a bad storm out there, very cold," Roger adds.

"Will do. Take care." The door closes and Craig lets his eyes move back to the couple that now look grimmer than before.

"The girl's room is upstairs, the boys sleep down stairs in the basement. I'll show you to your room now, Ruby," Laura says. Ruby sighs silently before nodding to her brother and following the woman up the wooden stair case.

That's when Craig notices the same boy that answered the door is still lingering at the top of the stair case, hands folded over the railing, staring straight at him as if he's reading his soul. The blonde cracks a smile before Roger's voice cuts in loudly.

"Kenneth! Quit leaning on that at once! Didn't Laura ask you to help with the laundry?" He snaps.

The boy now labeled as Kenneth straightens up and nods. He shoulders are a little rolled. "Yes sir, she did."

"And what do you think you're doing?"

"Waiting for the drier to be done, sir," the blonde says calmly with a smile even though the sarcasm is evident.

"Don't take that tone with me! If you aren't going to be of any use here either go outside or go back to your room instead of lingering in the halls like trash."

He follows them down into the basement.

On opposite sides of the wall there are three old and weak looking bunk beds. There are two tall dressers, one for each wall, and a closet under the staircase that's closed. There is a lamp in the corner and a filthy looking green couch by it. The basement is tiny and very cold.

There are only four boys down there, (six including Kenneth and Craig now) and they all don't even pay any mind to the fact that three people have just come down the stairs.

On the right side bunk bed closest to the back wall are two boys, one is very intimidating looking with deep, deep black hair and sharp brown eyes that almost look amber, maybe even red, the other is short and has longer, light blonde hair and seems to shift quite uncomfortably at the change of atmosphere in the room. On the left side of the room, huddled under the blankets and wearing a jacket is an impish looking boy with round blue eyes and vibrant blonde hair with a book in his hands. The only other boy in the room is a cherub looking kid with brown hair and brown eyes dressed in a dark red. He looks by far the happiest in the room and stops scribbling away at a notebook when they reach the bottom of the stairs.

All eyes fall on Craig and his expression doesn't change in the slightest.

"Boys, this is your new sibling, Craig. You will show him his chores for the week and situate him with a bunk and ample space in the dressers for his things. Accommodate him accordingly. Dinner will be in an hour." With that Roger trudges back up the stairs, leaving Craig bare to the judgmental gazes. Kenneth grins and claps Craig on the shoulder.

"Welcome to hell, my very, very tall friend. I'm Kenny," he beams idiotically.

"Fucktard…" the dark haired kid on the bunk with the blonde mutters bitterly.

"Fuck you too darlin'," Kenny retorts right back. With a slight chuckle he speaks again. "That's Damien, he's a prick." A middle finger raises in his direction from said boy and Kenny sticks his tongue out. "See, what'd I tell ya'? He's a douche."

"You said he was a prick," Craig says in a dead monotone, "not a douche."

"Ah, and he speaks! Technicalities, babe," Kenny babbles, "douche, prick, it all means the same thing, that Damien's a fucking asshole."

"I'm going to smother you in your sleep, you fucking twig of a human being."

"You insult me! I'm so _hurt _by your words, Damien!" He pretends to swoon and the brown haired boy chuckles before standing and moving over to the two.

"I'm Clyde," he says politely with a smile. "Don't be put off by Debbie-downer over there and this weirdo, we're not all crazy."

The blonde with the book springs from his bed and extends a shaking hand. "I'm Butters," he says with a not quite southern accent. Craig gives him a look. "W-well, m-my name's Leopold but c-cause that's a faggy name everyone calls me Butters," he stammers. Kenny sighs.

"It's not a faggy name, Butters, stop telling yourself that," Kenny chides in almost a motherly way.

"A-and I'm Philip but everyone calls me Pip because they hate me!" The other blonde (who Craig hadn't even noticed stood up) says with his hand extended that Craig ignores/pretends not to see.

"Damn your tall, how old are you?" Clyde asks, gawking at Craig's frame.

"Sixteen."

"Oh so's Ken!" Butters chirps.

"Damien and Pip are both seventeen and Butters and Clyde are fifteen," Kenny explains. "And now I have an age-buddy too!"

"Good for you, too bad no one gives a shit," A new voice says. A door closes and the child that was outside in the snow earlier comes down the stairs, shrugging off a massive black coat. The kid is young and has long black hair and heavy bags under his eyes. His lips are chapped and he looks overall pissed that he's even alive.

"That's Firkle-", a glare from the young kid silences Clyde immediately.

Firkle sizes Craig up and down for a moment, tugging at his dark purple scarf before speaking. "…The fuck do you eat? You're a fucking giant, sheesh…" the ten year old spits venomously.

"N-now chaps-," A hand on the British boy's shoulder stops him from speaking and he shrinks a little into Damien's touch. Craig notices the odd encounter but chooses he doesn't give a shit.

After an awkward moment of silence Kenny speaks again. "Well, this is the gang! Except for the girls. There's Bebe, Red, and my little sister Karen."

"Ruby."

"What?"

"My sister too. Ruby," he repeats as if Kenny is dumb.

"Oh… How old is she?" Clyde gives Kenny a look. "Not like that ya' perv!" Kenny shoves Clyde on the shoulder and the brunette laughs a little.

"Twelve."

"Karen'll be twelve soon!" Kenny beams.

More awkward silence follows. "You- uh... can just set your stuff down by one of the dressers. The tops of the bunks are broken. They don't support any weight, practically at all so you're going to be stuck with the couch, unless…" Kenny starts to wiggle his eyebrows and the completely blank stare he receives in return stops him all together with a sigh and a mumble of, "You're no fun".

After Craig sat down on the couch, everyone seemed to go back into their little routine. The dark haired boy Damien sat back down on one of the bunks with the British boy Pip and the blonde Butters resumed reading, only now with Kenny hovering over him, trying to read over his shoulder, and the brunette Clyde took to watching Craig curiously. The foul mouthed little boy Firkle sat on what Craig presumed to be his bunk and buried his face into his pillow, maybe trying to fall asleep.

Not a very short time later, the door to the basement opens and a teenage girl with striking red hair sticks her head over the banister. She looks tired. "Dinner," she says simply and walks back up.

Dinner was very awkward. Craig met the other three girls, a pretty blonde named Bebe and the sweet little girl Karen and then the standoff-ish girl that had come to get them for dinner Before Laura served anything, she made them all pray. Laura and Roger bowed their heads and closed their eyes along with everyone except for Kenny, Craig, Ruby, and Damien, who sat tight lipped, staring forward.

"So, Craig, please introduce yourself," Roger begins.

Letting out a tiny, barely audible sigh, Craig sets his fork down before speaking. "My name is Craig." Then he picks up his fork and starts eating again. Laura glares, but moves on.

"What about you, Ruby?"

"I'm Ruby. My parents are both dead, my brother is an asshole, I have no friends, all my belongings fit in a _satchel, _and my favorite color is purple."

Laura splutters violently while Roger struggles not to choke. "Such language will _not _be tolerated in any circumstances in this household! Get upstairs to your bedroom, now! You will not eat dinner tonight, and if such foul language is used again under this roof you will be disciplined accordingly, do I make myself clear?" Roger practically shouts. The table is split between shock, bewilderment, and trying not to hysterically laugh.

"Yes sir," Ruby says simply without a hint of emotion, standing and walking up to the stairs without looking back whatsoever.

The rest of dinner was spent in silence.


	2. We Don't Need A Mirror

2

We Don't Need A Mirror (To Assess The Damage)

The couch is painfully uncomfortable and the air is freezing. Craig's jacket and thick, oversized plaid pajama pants are the only warmth he'll get, considering the lack of blankets. His hat is pulled over his eyes to give the illusion of near-sleep, maybe then his mind will shut off. It doesn't. Earlier into the night, once most of the boys had fallen asleep, he had heard a rustling and moved his hat up to see what it was. Craig could barely make out the silhouette of Pip moving nearly silently across the room and tapping the form in the bunk that Craig thought was Damien. The boy in the bed (maybe Damien, maybe not) had made a small noise and rolled over and the smaller figure crawled in the small bed beside him. He didn't really care though. Maybe he was a little jealous of the warmth they have. Okay… so he's pretty fucking cold. And yes, he's pretty fucking jealous.

He's been called cold many times before. Some people are called human-radiators, because their skin gives off natural heat, but touching Craig is like touching a corpse. He's also cold of heart. Craig has not cried since he was eight and his guinea pig died. It simply was something Craig does not do. He does not give off heat and he is not warm. He is cold.

Another sound of movement in the dark causes him to stir. Craig moves his hat out of the way of his eyes. A figure rises in the bunk closest to him. Kenny stands and slips on boots (his parka is already on) and heads towards the basement stairs. Craig waits until he's disappeared with the nearly silent click of the door as his conformation to move himself. Quickly yet silently (being stealthy has always been a specialty of his), he pulls on his black converse (his only shoes) and follows after.

The stairs surprisingly don't creak and the door makes little to no noise upon being opened. He immerges into the living room just in time to see the backdoor move slowly as it closes. Moving swiftly he heads to the kitchen and pulls open the door, bracing himself for the cold. The difference between the temperatures outside and in are minimal considering the poor state of heating the basement gets, and Craig adjusts quickly. He makes out a silhouette walking in the snow not too far off and jogs forward in the snow towards them.

Kenny notices the noise first and turns, fear on his face. After realizing its Craig his panicked expression softens and he chuckles a little, his breath puffing out into steam in the air.

"Hey," he offers.

"What're you doing out here?" Craig asks in the same shocking monotone as always.

"Ah, you know…" Kenny pulls a cigarette box and lighter from his pocket. "…helps me warm up. Want one?" Craig nods. Slightly taken aback, but happy none the less that he has a new smoking body besides the brooding and chronically depressed ten-year old Firkle, Kenny trudges over to the two-seat swing set.

He tosses the lighter to Craig while he swipes the snow off of the seats. "My lady," he gestures grandly to the swing and with a huff Craig sits. Kenny sits beside him and holds out the cigarette. With the tiny glow of a flame, it lights, and he watches Craig repeat the action on his own cigarette.

They smoke in silence for a while, feeling it slowly start a fire in their veins and basking in the contrasting sensations of the freezing night air and the hot sting of the smoke down their throats.

"How long have you been in the system?" Kenny asks, breaking the blissful silence.

"Three years," Craig says plainly.

"Seven," Kenny blandly sighs.

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'." More silence passes between them, silence that Craig is grateful for. If there's one thing he hates, it's talking, especially about personal things. "My dad ran a meth lab in our backyard and my parents ended up on this fucking retarded TV show, '_White Trash in Trouble' _and we got taken away." Kenny blows a smoke ring out into the air. "Hey, did I wake you up earlier?" he changes the subject, not really expecting or needing Craig to respond to his story.

"No."

"I'm an insomniac, so I'm up all the time," Kenny grins stupidly. "Glad I have someone to smoke with though. Why were you up?"

"It's cold and that couch is less comfortable that rocks," Craig says bitterly.

"Yeah, that thing sucks. Feel bad that we ran outta' bunks. Hey, usually Pip sleeps with Damien so I bet he'd let ya' take his bunk, just have to ask. Don't worry, he's a push over, you just have to get him alone and ask because if Damien's around he'll light you on fire in your sleep or something for harassing his lova'."

"'Lova'?" Craig repeats back.

"You know, his…" Kenny begins to make a series of obscene hand gestures, none which Craig really understands. Eventually he gets the point though and nods. "Those two are fuckin' weird. I really don't understand them."

"Oh."

Kenny chuckles, moving the swing back and forth a little. "You're not really a conversationalist, are you?"

"Oh no. Was it so obvious?" Craig says in a tone void of _any _emotion. Kenny laughs and opens his mouth to say something when Craig holds up a gloved hand. The blonde silences. "Just…" he never finishes his thought.

They sit until two more cigarettes have burned down in a silence mutually comfortable for both of them. Craig can't remember a time where he's had a moment like this. A cigarette, blissful near silence and a person around him that somehow isn't ruining it. He'd almost call it nice. Eventually though, Kenny stands mumbling something about how cold it is and Craig notices that he himself has been shivering as well and hadn't even noticed.

The two burry the cigarette butts in the snow so they won't be found by Laura and Roger the next morning and quickly hurry back inside, slipping off their snow covered boots so slush doesn't get tracked all over the house. Their toes are still numb by the time they're both back in their respective "beds".

Kenny finds himself watching the Chullo-clad boy long after it's apparent he's fallen asleep. He doesn't have the faintest idea why, nor why he doesn't stop. He watches him until his shoulder goes numb and he rolls onto his back instead.

* * *

><p>Craig doesn't sleep at all that night and when the basement door opens at precisely five thirty in the morning, according to his watch, his eyes are already glued open to the ceiling. Roger's voice echoes down the staircase, enough to make everyone startle out of sleep with a painful flinch. He calls down a sharp, "It's time to get up" and the door slams shut.<p>

Someone groans in the dark and there's a stumbling, tripping noise before the light switch comes on and the basement is suddenly bathed in bright florescent lights that were probably the cheapest bulk buy at the local department store. More groans. The first one out of bed is, unsurprisingly, Kenny. He slips out from under the covers and yawns (even though he didn't sleep at all) before stretching his arms like a cat.

Butters whines from his position under two heavy blankets as Kenny tries to nudge him awake. Slowly Craig sits up and stands, his toes nearly numb from the cold. It feels like he can't move his legs and he has no doubt he's probably cold enough to be considered a corpse. He doesn't need to look in the mirror to know that the bags under his eyes are back.

The British boy Pip starts to poke at Damien gently, murmuring things into his ear. It confirms Craig's theory that it was Pip who crawled into Damien's bed and logs his discovery of the two's relationship in his mind to attempt to care about later. The youngest of the boys, Firkle, wraps himself in a dark purple scarf and digs around in the drawer of one of the dressers for something. He draws out a small black make up bag and tucks it into an inside pocket of his heavy black jacket.

Everyone seems to be busying themselves with something but Craig who simply stands and tries to will feeling back into his numb limbs. Kenny turns his eyes on him and walks forward. "We have school in a few hours, I highly doubt you've been enrolled yet but it doesn't matter. They'll make you show up anyways so just play along. So make yourself look presentable. We have to fight the girls for hot water so most of us just opt to shower at night or when school gets out. Good luck, newbie." Kenny grins. When he says stuff like "newbie" it seems like it'd be malicious or mocking, but coming from him it almost seems affectionate, as if he's not capable of offending anyone or anything.

As he turns back around, he moves to rub his neck and accidentally pulls the neck of his orange parka down with it, revealing a thin, whiter line of skin at the base of his neck. "What's the scar from?" Craig asks.

Kenny blinks. He turns around, eyes wide. "What," he deadpans.

"What's that scar from?" Craig repeats. Kenny just stares at him open mouthed. "The one on your neck?"

Kenny smiles and pulls down the tall collar of his jacket. "Which one on my neck?"

Craig can't help but widen his eyes. All over his neck are white scars. There are lines and small little circles to things that look like they could have been perfect circles or stars in his skin, like someone who'd been impaled through the neck somehow survived with the most minimal scarring possible. Kenny's smiling, but his eyes are sad. They're aching. They're screaming.

"God, Kenny, stop showing that shit to people! No one wants to see!" Clyde shouts from the other side of the room.

"Y-yeah Ken you shouldn't be s-so proud a' stuff like that…" Butters sheepishly murmurs as he tugs on a pair of brown boots.

Kenny chuckles aridly. "Yeah, yeah, he asked."

Craig is starting to regret he did.

Just as the sun is starting to rise they all head upstairs. At the kitchen table is Roger with an oversized cup of coffee and a newspaper while Laura is bustling around the kitchen with one of the other girls in the house, Bebe. A brunette with a freckle covered face comes down the stairs. She looks thin and tired and is wearing a dark green jacket and jeans that are a couple sizes too big. Craig recognizes her as Karen, Kenny's little sister. Ruby is right behind her. The strawberry blonde looks just as tired as her older brother. They'd be nearly identical if Ruby wasn't significantly smaller and a blonde.

"Children tend to your morning chores," Roger barks condescendingly from the kitchen table without even taking his eyes off the paper. Laura comes forward into the living room, drying her hands on a dish towel.

"Craig, Ruby, your chores have been added to the chore board in the living room. From now on you'll be expected to complete them on the same schedule as everyone else. There are daily tasks and then weekly tasks. Craig, you will also be expected to seek a job because of your age. You will have one by the end of the month. We do not care for children who do not work to support themselves. Is this understood?"

Craig and Ruby both nod. Ruby moves into the living room while Craig moves towards Laura. He pulls something out of his backpack and hands it to her. "It's the prescription for my sleeping pills. My case worker should have notified you that you'll have to fill them from now on. They're all paid for already."

"Very well. I'll see if I can't pick them up sometime this week." Laura takes the prescription and walks back into the kitchen. Craig turns around and nearly jumps out of his skin. Kenny is standing right behind him, deathly silent with a wry smirk on his face.

"Lucky. Wish I got sleeping pills," Kenny muses before cramming his hands deep into his pockets and walking off.

Sighing Craig follows his sister's lead and checks the chore board. It has each of their names on it, girls and boys separated, and a box for each day of the week. At the bottom of the board is a separate box with a bulleted list inside. It has a simple list of three things; _make bed, pack school lunch, gather laundry. _The box is titled _DAILY. _

In the main chart in the box for each day is a large _D _that stands for the daily tasks as well as an extra thing. Craig scans the board with disinterest to find the spot for Monday. He has the capital _D _and one other thing, _W: _ _Evening Dishes. _He finds his sister's name. In her box is _D _and _EW: Laundry. _Craig assumes EW stands for "end of the week" and the W is simply an extra thing he'll have to do all week.

Sighing he mentally checks off the "make bed" and "pack lunch", the first because he doesn't have one and the later because he never eats lunch. After brief consideration he decides to actually do the third and heads back down to the basement to put his shirt from yesterday in the cracked plastic laundry basket that has his name written in Sharpie on it. Laura must have marked it and placed it there for him.

Just as he starts to head back up the stairs he hears Laura call for breakfast.

Back upstairs everyone has managed to sit around the ridiculously small kitchen table and Laura has brought over a large pot of home-made oatmeal. It's the first time in a very, very long time that Craig has had a home-cooked breakfast. Ruby notes this too and gives her brother a glance. Laura makes them pray. Craig, Kenny, Ruby and Damien don't. Nobody notices. The oatmeal tastes like dirt and is lukewarm with chunks of pink stuff he assumes are the most tasteless strawberries in the world. It's, in a word, shitty. Craig barely touches it, even if it was fantastic he'd barely touch it. Eating in the morning makes him sick.

Unfortunately for him, Roger notices. "Craig, you will eat what Laura lovingly supplies to the family just like everybody else. Just because you are new doesn't mean you'll receive any special treatment. Eat."

"I can't."

Everyone stops moving. Kenny stops mid bite, everybody does, just to watch. Roger slowly turns his gaze back to Craig, glaring venomously.

"What did you say to me, young man?"

"I can't. Eating in the morning makes me sick," Craig states plainly with no emotion whatsoever in his voice.

"I don't care if eating in the morning makes you bleed out of your eyes, when Laura makes food for the family you will clean your entire plate, is that understood?" Craig can feel Ruby's eyes drilling into his head. _Stop, _she says. _Don't push it, _she says.

Craig can hear his blood rush in his veins. He knows that look. He knows that look. It gets louder. Eat it and vomit all morning, don't eat it… don't eat it… don't eat it… Don't. Can't. Won't. Will. Have to. Must. Don't. Don't. Don't. "_Don't you dare, Craig."_

"No thank you."

Roger exhales. No one else even so much as blinks. He stands. Takes Ruby's bowl. Walks to the backdoor. Opens the door. Sets the bowl down. "Ruby," Roger starts in a tone dead cold, "go eat outside." It's snowing.

Ruby's eyes widen. _"Don't you dare, Craig." _

"Go eat outside, Ruby. If your brother is disrespectful you'll both be treated like the animals you're acting like. Go eat outside." Ruby stands out of her chair and slowly walks to the door, never breaking eye contact with Craig. "Wait," Roger commands, putting his hand in between her and the door. "Take off your jacket." It's snowing. Ruby's eyes widen like saucers. "Take it off." Slowly, Ruby shrugs off the jacket. He stops her again. "Take off your shoes. And socks." It's snowing. She complies silently. "Take off your-"

The sound of metal hitting porcelain breaks the words. Craig puts the fork in his mouth. He chews.

Roger picks up the bowl, hands Ruby her shoes, and tells her to put her jacket back on. He closes the door and sits down in his chair, picking up his newspaper as Craig takes another bite.

His stomach churns.

After breakfast the children head out of the front door and outside. The bus stop is a two mile walk in the snow and its freezing cold. Damien drags two bikes out of the run down, termite ridden shed and hops on the black one. Pip gets on the handlebars and they take off. The other bike is Bebe's and she has an agreement with Kenny to take Karen with her so the girl doesn't have to walk. Karen declines this morning, she wants to walk with Ruby. Bebe goes on her own. Craig gets about ten steps out of sight of the house before doubling over and vomiting in the snow. The oatmeal is completely undigested and sinks into the snow. The sound is terrible.

"Fuck man, you weren't lying," Red mumbles. Ruby shakes her head. "How long has he been like that?"

"Forever," Ruby says blandly.

"Shit, that's a lot of vomit…" Kenny mutters. Butters steps forward and puts a reassuring hand on Craig's back as he rides out the last few waves of the acrid tasting bile. Craig shrugs off the contact and spits out a few strings of puke.

"Aw, I think I'm gonna' be sick…," Clyde groans sympathetically.

"Shut up, Clyde! No one cares!" Red snaps. The brunette huffs at his dismissal and they all watch as Craig stands.

His eyes are blood shot and lined with purple rings, his hair is oily under his hat and his nose is getting red from the incessant cold. It's not even December yet and it's completely freezing. He doesn't need a mirror to know he looks like shit.

"A-are you okay there, b-buddy?" Butters stammers.

Craig groans and leans on Ruby, who rolls her eyes, but supports his weight none the less. Their sibling relationship is… odd at best.

His stomach feels like it's been stuck on a tilt-a-whirl for five hours and the bile stings his throat. "Does anyone have a mint?" Craig mutters.

Sighing, Red digs in her pocket, popping open a plastic container and handing him four Icebreakers mints. He eyes the excessive number. "Trust me, you need them," she says, brown eyes scanning the boy up and down. "You look like shit."

Craig grunts in response, chewing all four mints at once.

"Come on, assholes. We're gonna' miss the bus," Firkle mutters darkly, tugging his scarf over his mouth. No one questions his enthusiasm to go to school, so Craig thinks nothing of it. The walk is about thirty minutes and pure agony.

Kenny smokes the whole way there and Craig's stomach never stops churning. Ruby lingers in back with Karen, Butters tails Kenny like a lost dog, and Clyde walks beside Red, but neither speak. Firkle stays ahead of them the whole time, his two pound leather boots sinking deep into the snow and his dark purple scarf nearly slapping Craig in the face.

He turns and heads down a different side walk and a hand on his shoulder stops Craig from following. "That's not the way to the bus stop," Kenny explains, holding his second cigarette today in his fingers. "He goes to his friend Henrietta's house before school every day. She does his makeup and stuff and then another one of their friends… Michael- I think- drives them to school."

Craig nods. Kenny continues to walk beside him. "Never seen someone get so sick from eating in the morning." He breathes out a plume of smoke. "Kinda' crazy. How are ya' gonna' get around that?" The dark haired boy sighs, then shrugs. "You should figure something out, ya' know. Maybe puke on Roger one day so he lets you avoid eating just so you won't get vomit in his precious shit-shack of a house anymore." He takes a long drag. "Fuckin' scary how he flipped out this morning, been awhile since he's made someone eat outside." Craig eyes him.

"That happens a lot?"

Kenny chuckles. It's not a happy sound. "All the time, dude. Mostly to me… not about food a lot of the time though. Sometimes he'll make me sit outside in the snow or whatever kinda' freak weather we're getting for a couple hours if I talk back or some shit." He shakes his head slowly. "Guy hates me." Another drag before he drops the thing in the snow and crunches it with his boot. "Hey, stick around Clyde today. He's a cool guy, pretty much normal… well… normal-est out a' all of us. I'd offer to baby sit ya' but my friends are dicks and you'd probably hate 'em."

"I don't need a baby sitter," Craig says flatly.

Kenny chuckles. "Just except the help, man."

Craig sighs. He'll probably end up doing what the blonde says, even though it goes against his better judgment. As the bus stop comes into view with a few other kids grouped around it, Kenny offers a brief wave before tightening the strings of his hood and jogging to meet them.

"You like him," A deadpan to rival Craig's says from beneath him. He looks down at Ruby, her gaze transfixed straight ahead.

"No," Craig says flatly.

"Fine, but when it happens, I called it first," she says briskly.

"It won't."

Ruby sighs, but still doesn't look at him. "You can't not feel forever. You're a good pretender, Craig, but every game ends. Make sure you're on the winning side." Before he can respond Karen shouts to Ruby, who turns to Craig. She doesn't need to thank him for this morning, he knows.

Those words were her thanks. Or, well, the closest thing he's going to get.

* * *

><p><em>Shout out to LinkinBizkit97, your review made my day! Thank you! <em>

Hope this is turning out well so far, the next chapter should be up sooner than this one was but it all depends on whether my computer cooperates with me or not. Thanks for reading!


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